All Roads
by Funky In Fishnet
Summary: Seth Rollins left the Shield in tatters in order to grasp an opportunity for glory with the Authority. Now he's back with the Shield, desperate to repair what he'd left behind. As if it's going to be that easy, as if the issues all three of them are sitting on aren't going to fester and explode, as if he could ever leave them again...


_**Disclaimer: **I own nothing._

_**Author Note: **My take on how the Shield could suffer and develop as they try to become a group again at some point in the future._

* * *

**ALL ROADS**

It wasn't easy. Of course it wasn't. There were huge fucking trust issues and pain laid out between them, and there was guilt on Seth's part, but he knew Dean didn't really believe that. Roman did and even sometimes pressed a brief hand to Seth's shoulder. Seth's skin practically vibrated in response, he wanted more. Fuck, he wanted what he'd, they'd, had before, together.

The fact that he couldn't, at least not yet, was on him. Maybe he'd never get it, a small cruel voice hissed at him. He deserved that.

For now, they shared a hotel room again and even hung out before and after shows. Seth wasn't invited to the safehouses though, safehouses that he knew still existed because when they weren't all on the road together, Dean and Roman disappeared, telling Seth that they'd see him at the next show. Seth didn't expect to be included, to be let into wherever they now considered a safe space. It still hurt though, that barrier.

He understood why – even now as they tried to stumble along together again, Seth clutching onto the sliver of a chance he'd been given, he was a danger to them. And maybe, in their minds, he always would be.

* * *

Dean swung between two distinctly opposite attitudes. Sometimes he looked everywhere but at Seth, his mood a steel trap that nobody was permitted through, except Roman who leaned against Dean's shoulder, touched his hair, his wrist. He grounded Dean, it was good to see that was still constant. Seth ached from head to foot, he wanted to make Dean relax, not tense up, not grit his teeth and bare them.

Fuck.

Other times Dean stared right at Seth, a challenge clear in every inch of his body. He looked like he wanted to start a fight, which was a normal look for Dean but even more so now. It was like he wanted to tear something apart and he wanted it to be Seth. But then Roman would touch him and Dean's jaw would click and they'd look at each other in a way that completely excluded Seth. He didn't storm off, he didn't demand a separate hotel room, Jesus he was clinging to whatever he could get, but he did smart. That ache wasn't going away.

Dean was right at the heart of it, Dean and Roman, Roman pulling Seth in and holding him off, Dean so often pushing him away. Seth would take all that he was given, because at least he was sometimes getting pulled in, at least he was sharing the same air as them, the same room, sometimes even the same car. Never the same bed though, not anymore.

* * *

The TV was on loud and Dean was stretched out across one of the beds, his head pillowed on Roman's thigh. Roman had a hand twisted through Dean's hair and they both looked content. Seth was really fucking glad, maybe that was strange, but he was glad. The people he cared about, had always cared about even when he'd been convincing himself that he didn't or that it didn't matter, those people were content together.

"Oh, fuck you."

Dean threw something at the TV, a couple of mismatched socks, and Roman tipped his head down to crack a smile at Dean. Seth sat on the other bed and felt absurdly blessed.

* * *

Roman was hard to look away from, he always had been. Just, how did a person exist who looked that good? How was it possible? He was like some dream, some fantasy, long-haired and golden, and he was right there in the same room as Seth. He was touching Dean and sometimes even touching Seth. He didn't look at Seth like he was angry, more like he was _resigned._

Seth knew that was because of him. He glowered at himself in the mirror and harbored more-than-occasional resentments. They weren't the only ones who'd suffered, didn't they know that? He'd swallowed every longing impulse he'd had, nostalgia he'd told himself, something that'd get in the way of his brightest goal – the WWE Championship, wrestling domination. The Shield had brought him a lot but it hadn't brought him that, not even a close chance, not like the Authority would. It was what he'd gotten into the industry for and he'd suffered for it, every day, because he'd _missed_ Dean and Roman like a hole had been punched through him. And he hadn't been able to tell anyone because any flicker of weakness would have been pounced on by the Authority.

He'd been sure that he'd made the right decision - he'd always be known as a WWE Champion now, one of the few, someone who'd really made a mark in the industry. He'd shown the world just what he could do, that he could tear down whoever he wanted because those who sacrificed their friends, their_ brothers_, on the alter of this industry were always rewarded.

Seth had been, until he hadn't anymore.

That was his punishment, wasn't it? For wanting so much, for wanting _everything._ But didn't everybody? Why else would someone step into this business if not to ultimately conquer it? So why was he the one punished for wanting it all? And why did that punishment continue now that he was outside the Authority again, the world against him, only this time without his brothers at his back? They were untrusting and restrained, connected to each other but not to him. To be so close, to be so _grateful_, and not actually regain anything...

So fuck yes, he'd suffered. It'd be nice if once in a while Dean or Roman acknowledged or even noticed that.

* * *

"Pizza! Fuck off with your pineapple."

Dean swiped at Roman, his fist connecting, Roman didn't seem to take any offense. Once upon a time, his brow would have darkened dramatically and Seth would have been thinking _oh fuck here we go_ and would have readied himself for an evening of exhausting peace-keeping. Instead, Roman flicked a chunk of pineapple at Dean and ate a mouthful with a smirk, while Dean wrapped his tongue around spiced beef and melted cheese.

Seth might as well have not been there at all.

Once, Seth would have been stealing a slice of both pizzas before tucking into his own. Dean shunted Seth's box forward and raised a challenging eyebrow.

"Eat or be eaten."

It was an old worn phrase and Seth's gaze jerked immediately upwards but Dean wasn't looking at him anymore. Seth could remember a hundred different moments connected to those words – pizza sauce on skin, Seth trying to keep the bedding clean because he wasn't going to pay damages again, damn it, cheat days, late breakfasts, and whatever could be found to eat while traveling the country.

Seth reached over and lifted some pineapple chunks from Roman's pizza. Roman didn't stop him, instead he watched and blinked slowly like he was trying to clear his vision. Seth hoped fervently that Roman wasn't disappointed by what he saw.

He got his answer when Roman's knee brushed against his and stayed in contact. Seth swallowed down pineapple and tried to memorize the moment. Was this what it was always going to be like, so much gratitude for the scraps he was thrown? He hated it but he'd take it anyway, he'd take all he could get. He always would.

* * *

Dean and Roman never fucked now. Seth never heard or saw them, so if that relationship had continued without him the fucking took place whenever he wasn't around. He could remember with sharp clarity how they'd looked together, Dean fucking into Roman, his skin shining with sweat, his face so rivetingly open. Dean's hair would curl and Roman would groan, so at ease and unashamed. Dean usually grunted out filth and his hands would caress Roman, actions and words combining to provide a bigger picture. It had always been a sight to see, in every position and from every angle.

Seth held onto those images and when Roman and Dean left him alone for a night or longer, he jerked off to those memories. Sometimes, he lay on whatever bed the two of them had most recently shared, wrapped a hand around his cock and took his time, remembering touches and words and that heady visceral rush. Maybe there was some bitterness in there too –_ look at what you've made me do, this isn't a game, it isn't. _Maybe he wanted to punish them, maybe he wanted them to smell what he'd done, to be aware of his frustration, to feel some guilt too.

He knew what he'd done. He'd taken a chance and it hadn't completely worked out for him in the end. He knew he had to work his way back into their trust, he was completely prepared for that. Sometimes the power of the angry resentment he felt took him by surprise, other times it really didn't.

Because he was really ready to work hard, to prove to Dean and Roman how much he regretted the way he'd left them – but how else was Triple H going to take him seriously? How else would Seth have gotten in with the Authority? He'd had to speak the language they still all knew best – ruthlessness and sacrifice. Seth had sacrificed his brothers, the men who'd come to mean fucking everything to him, for what he'd always wanted. And yet here he was, back again, not because he'd had nowhere else to turn, but because they were who he still wanted, they were who he hadn't been able to stop thinking about, they were _everything_, they always had been even when he'd had that precious title in his hands.

He'd never stopped thinking about them, even when he'd tried hard to think about anything else. The two of them had always gotten be together, they'd never stopped.

So sometimes he jerked off, lying on sheets that smelled of them. He never felt guilty afterward.

* * *

The fucking cataclysm of emotions constantly lurching through him – guilt, resentment, lust, gratitude – came to a head when Dean ambled into their hotel room with a rash of hickies across his neck. He leered tellingly at Roman, it was a look that disappeared by the time his gaze fell on Seth.

Pain jabbed in Seth's chest and he wondered, for a sudden free-falling second, whether it'd be better for everyone if he wasn't there at all.

He immediately made for the door. No one tried to stop him, no one even called his name. What was this? Why had they even drawn him back in if it still clearly hurt them so badly? What was the point?

Was this just a way of getting back at him for what he'd done?

Fuck. He couldn't even say that they would have done the same thing, because they hadn't.

He folded arms and fisted his hands up under his armpits, it was incredibly cold outside and he wasn't wearing a jacket. He stared up at the big yellow moon and considered just where he was going to sleep now. He had enough money to get a motel room somewhere. He just needed to...fuck, he wanted to clear his head, to actually work out what he wanted to do here. He'd known once – to win the WWE's highest honor, to take the WWE by storm with his brothers. Then it'd been to take the opportunity gifted to him, to have the best chance possible at the belt, a goal he'd magnificently achieved. Then...then he'd gotten back here again because he hadn't stopped missing them and even the championship belt hadn't ultimately filled that void, only Dean and Roman weren't struggling to get along anymore and they weren't exactly welcoming him back yet they'd been willing to give him a chance, or something like it (a chance to hang himself maybe), so here he was. Why?

A jacket was draped around his shoulders without warning. Seth looked up sharply and found Roman beside him, looking right at him, not weary or resigned but clear-eyed and curious and even concerned. Seth shook his head a little but accepted the jacket, it was fucking cold after all.

Of course, it was _reassuring_ to have Roman beside him looking at him like that, it felt like something right had clicked into place. It'd never felt like that amongst the Authority. That hadn't mattered for a long time, until it had.

He breathed out and watched his breath mist briefly in front of him.

"Why am I even here?" he asked, a question for him as well as for Roman, a blunt pained desperation.

Roman's gaze never left him, "It's an experiment."

Seth's eyebrows drew downward and he stared back, his insides churning, his pain only rising.

"A fucking-what the fuck does that-?"

"You didn't give us a choice," Roman's voice cut off Seth's rant, utterly firm and edged with the kind of pain that made Seth ache in response. "You were gone and it was all your decision. No warning at all for us."

Seth's throat felt dry, he couldn't argue. He'd made his choices, and theirs for them because he couldn't pass up that amazing opportunity, he couldn't wait any longer to strike out for glory on his own. He'd always thought that there'd be more time for the Shield, a more amicable parting, but opportunities like the one Triple H had offered him didn't come around often. That was usually a closed club. Still, he'd made the choice, not Roman or Dean. They'd just had to deal with the fallout. Roman wasn't done either.

"You said a lot of things, about what we meant to you. It's hard to forget that."

Right, he'd claimed it had all been business, because that was what Triple H had needed to hear and what Seth had needed to believe in order to move forward and make the most of his golden opportunity. But he hadn't forgotten what they'd really meant to him, how much he'd hated sleeping in an empty bed, how many corners of his life they'd actually claimed.

He'd lied, and now was asking them to believe in him again.

He nodded slightly and Roman's gaze raked over him, it felt as good as it always did, only Seth knew that if he reached out, his touch probably wouldn't be welcomed. God, he wanted to touch Roman, he wanted to know it wouldn't always be like this.

He wet his lips and saw Roman watching the movement very closely. That was something. He hoarded the moment away possessively, to turn over later in his otherwise-empty bed.

"I could have gone anywhere else," he pointed out, quiet but strong.

It was Roman's turn to nod, his mouth turning up just a little and his tone meaningful."Yeah, you could have."

His hand reached out and squeezed Seth's shoulder, his thumb stroking against Seth's throat, right over his pulsepoint. Seth closed his eyes for a long moment, Roman's hand stayed right there. When Seth opened his eyes again, Roman was looking at him, like he was willing Seth to understand something. Seth had seen that expression on Roman's face before - when he'd been in the ring and Roman had been on the outside, cheering him on, willing him to keep going, not to give up. Oh.

Roman let go, leaving Seth feeling cold but he could see something shifting in Roman's gaze. There was a lot going on there, like Roman was reluctant to stop touching Seth but also like he was wary of that reluctance and so much more. Seth watched Roman reenter the hotel, maybe Seth wasn't the only one with a full complicated head right now. Fuck, they were going to take forever, weren't they? The three of them. It wasn't like Dean had been acting like he was much closer to letting Seth in. And if his head was as fucked-up as Seth and Roman's...

Was it worth it? Was it really? The huge amount of time that this was going to take? The pain and frustration and unfulfilled want, the guilt, regret and resentment?

Seth let out another breath and watched it disappear into the cold dark night.

He reentered the hotel and their room with little fanfare. Dean was taking up space on a bed, Roman was sorting through a suitcase and there was a sort of thrum in the air. Dean was wearing pants now but still looked like a feast before a starving man to Seth. He made a point of staring unashamedly, letting Dean see his raw desire. Dean looked right back, flinty and sneering but with more than a few odd glimmerings of lust in there too. That was a step in the right direction.

Roman and Dean had trusted Seth's words and actions before, look at what it'd got them. But here they were, willing to see him prove himself but equally ready to punch and run if they had to. Seth might never see their new safehouses, he might never get invited back into their bed, but there was still a possibility that he might, at some point in the future, near or far.

Was that enough?

A sock hit his cheek. Dean was poking a foot at Roman and talking about going bowling (bowling? What the fuck?). But he was also emphatically not looking at Seth, which said volumes about who the sock culprit was. Seth watched as Roman wrapped a hand around Dean's foot, stilling Dean with a quiet amused smile. And they were letting Seth see this.

He hadn't taken Roman's jacket off yet. It smelled so much like Roman, Seth buried his nose in it and sat down on the edge of his bed. He left the rest of it clear like an invitation. Actions always spoke louder than words, his had done before, now they had to again, didn't they? Irony felt thick on his tongue, his insides rolling sickeningly.

And he felt blessed all over again.

_-the end_


End file.
